Title: For the Love of My Brother (4/15)
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Human AU; 29 year old Xander is a successful businessman but he also lives as a sexual sub to his stepbrother’s alter ego, Spike. When William discovers something from Xander’s past, will it tear their relationship apart or make it stronger?
Warnings: Brother!Kink, underage sex, bondage/dominance/submission, spanking, angst galore, first person POV, some other things I'm probably forgetting.
Feedback: Want it like a horny teenager
Concrit: Give it to me like a Vestal Virgin, in other words, with lots of lube. (in comments is fine)
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were
Betas: crazydiamondsue and spikesgurl. Thank you both so much!
A/N 1: Written for bloodclaim’s The Colour, Sound and Random Object Spander Ficathon.
A/N 2: As raunchy as this sounds, I’m dealing more with the physiological aspects of this relationship than the…eh-hem…naughty ones. Although there will be naughty scenes, that is not the focus of the story. This is not a PWP.
A/N 3: If the idea of two teen-age boys doing naughty things to each other bothers you...don't click the link.
A/N 4: The past and the present are represented in separate chapters in this story. The past is written in the past tense, the present in the present tense. Hope this doesn't confuse anyone.
Special A/N: So I was
Previous chapters can be found here.
Previously in the past…
By now, just four years after meeting William, he was my brother in every way. We could talk about almost anything, our parents, troubles at school, even our personal grooming habits, but this subject fit into that little category of almost. So I left him a note on the cover of one of the videos I liked best, that said, “More of this, please.”
I really had no idea what I was getting myself into, but it wasn’t the videos I wanted.
It was something much, much better.
After the note, a part of me felt embarrassed, like I shouldn’t have said anything and wished I could take it back. The other part was worried he didn’t see it and I spent an hour looking under our desk to see if it had fallen onto the floor.
Then Will suddenly became mysteriously busy, and would be gone almost all night, only coming home after I had already fallen asleep. I was sure it had to do with my note but he never said anything about it. Other than never being home and not having any time to spend with me, nothing really changed.
Except, that was everything to me! My whole world changed. But to Will it seemed to be nothing. Just business as usual. And then, there was Friday.
Friday was the day we always set aside to get together and read over the video store’s weekly newsletter. Then we’d spend hours at the store picking out a week’s worth of movies. So I knew something was really wrong when he didn’t bother to show up.
Instead I ended up sitting in our darkening living room for hours and watched dejectedly as my parents came home on a high from whatever was the new thing that week. They didn’t even know I was there, if my dad’s hand up my mom’s skirt was any indication. Or maybe they did and just didn’t care. With my parents either was possible. Thankfully, they collapsed through the door to their bedroom before I had to resort to fake gagging noises, as a teen of my age is supposed to do in those situations.
Too bad for me, I didn’t feel like a real teen. I was just a big faker, like Will. Up until then our secret was something we shared. But for the first time since finding him, I felt alone.
I waited up for Will until the sky started to brighten and then I finally gave up. I tired to tell myself that it wasn’t a big deal. That he must have forgotten because he was so much busier these days, with prepping for the SATs and college, trying to write essays to impress admission boards. But I knew I was lying to myself. Especially since he did all that stuff from home. If he was out of the house, then he was spending his time in ways not academic in nature. When he eventually did get home, the sun was streaking through the crack in the curtains and I was just too tired to argue about it.
Later that week, he came home early enough to make dinner for me. It was the first time we really had a chance to talk. Except that every time I tried cautiously to bring it up, he avoided me. He’d either burrow into the fridge, claiming to look for something that he never found or he’d bang the pots around so that if I wanted him to hear me, I’d have to shout above the noise. Something he knew I wouldn’t do. With each attempt I made, he became more agitated and angry.
Finally done cooking, he dropped the plate of spaghetti in front of me, making the noodles flop over the sides, and growled out, “Here.”
The crack of the plate against the counter made me jump, the surge of adrenaline making me bold, “Come on, Will! Is the bug that crawled up your butt planning on a permanent residence? ‘Cause gotta say, not liking it.”
He met my eyes for the first time that week and his gaze wasn’t filled with the usual pride or love but with cold, frigid emptiness. “What!” he snapped.
I flinched and shrank away from him, hitting my back sharply on the counter. Even though he had never hurt me, I couldn’t stop the fear from creeping in.
He cringed and reached for me but at the last second pulled back, his head dropping as he rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
I wanted to say, ‘What’s wrong? Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Don’t hate me-I love you-I need you-I take it all back! Watch whatever you want, just don’t ignore me, please!’
But none of that stuff came out. Every attempt I made at the truth died, wedged in my throat. The silence weighed heavily on us. He stood there, hands in his pockets, and swayed on his feet as he shifted his weight, looking at anything else but me. He wasn’t angry or accusing, just waiting. If he needed space, I was going to give it to him and hope that he wouldn’t abandon me.
It broke my heart but I turned around, sat at the counter, and with a shaking hand picked up my fork. Even though my hunger was long gone, I shoved the food into my mouth, hoping he’d leave while I was still holding up. I bowed my head low over my plate, in an imitation of not wanting to get the sauce down the front of my shirt, and tried to swallow around the burning lump in my throat. The air around me shifted as Will padded closer to me, the closest he’d been in the last week. I did my best to hide my face, twisting it to the side, and shut my eyes, not wanting to see the faux marble countertop swirl into a blurry sea in front of me.
“Xander, it’s too much. I c-can’t-” his voice cracked then died under a strangled sob, but before I could turn around, he had run from the house, slamming the door behind him.
I managed to get the noodles down my throat before I dropped the fork and gripped the sides of the counter as the sobs took me over. I figured he’d be gone all night. But since I wasn’t sure, I tried to stifle my crying and quickly ate as much of the dinner as I could. The thought that it was possible he’d never cook for me again spurred me on. I wanted to savor this last meal but I was too upset and was just lucky enough to be able to taste it at all. Then I crawled into bed and cried silently into my pillow, not caring that my face would be red and swollen with lying on the wet material all night.
The next afternoon, I came home and everything was gone. The movies, the magazines…even the Kleenex by the bed! Was he insane?! I used those for other things besides…that. I had to blow my nose too. What a drama queen!
But after my initial shock, reality set in, and my heart sank. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I knew then that he’d seen my note and didn’t like it. He must be just as embarrassed about this as I was. By bringing it up, I had shut the whole thing down.
I threw my books onto the bed and paced around the room. Fear clawed at my insides. Stupid! I was so stupid! What had I done? I ruined everything! Would he stop talking to me? What did he think of me?
I worked myself over, calling myself every bad name in the book, until I was almost to the point of tears. Finally exhausted, I fell back onto my bed and hung my head into my hands. When I opened my eyes I saw the edge of something shiny stuffed in between my mattress and the frame. As I pulled it out, I realized it was a crisp new glossy magazine. The cover and title made it clear exactly what kind of magazine it was.
Inside the front cover a Post-It was attached and it read, “Pick a page.” My body took off at full speed before my brain had a chance to say, ‘Hey, wait a sec’. I couldn’t catch my breath and started to sweat and pant. My heartbeat sped up to a rapid-fire pace. I was getting hard at just the thought that he would help me somehow.
I looked around the room, making sure I wasn’t being watched, and then clutching the magazine to my chest ran into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me. I was wound so tight, my heart racing, the hair at the back of neck standing on end; every nerve ending was at red alert and all because of a little note in a simple magazine. But it meant so much. He’d seen my note and wanted to help but instead of just hit-and-miss guessing, he was asking me what I wanted most. It was more than I hoped for.
I flipped through the magazine furiously, not even quite sure what I was looking for. Aside from the odd article about sex toy safety and care, and a large section of personal ads, page after page contained different bondage pictures, all with men, either nude or wearing special costumes or harnesses. Some pages had one big image while other pages used several smaller images. Usually these images had a recurring theme to create a scene. There were several pictures with men on their knees, faces in masks, being lead around on chains. Others had men tied to objects. These images were nice, but not what I was ultimately interested in.
I wanted contact, lots of it.
I landed on a full-page image. A man, naked, sprawled over the lap of another, hands bound together above his head, hips thrust forward in between the legs of the other, with his ass a bright, vivid, bruised red. The other man had one hand in the bound man’s hair, tugging his head back and the other hand rubbing between his ass checks, grasping for his balls.
This was it! I had struck gold. Nothing made me hotter than this.
I wiggled against the lid of the toilet and realized there was no way I was going to be able to leave without relieving the tension. I creased the page open and set it carefully on the counter, then quickly undid my zipper, and pulled out my swollen, dripping erection. With my eyes riveted on the image of that red ass, I quickly tugged at myself, rocking my hips roughly, imaging my bottom to be the same color, loving the denim pull and scratch against my skin. A quick flash in my mind of my brother bringing himself off, hips thrust up, head bowed back, mouth open slightly, tongue licking his lips, and I was done.
Ignoring the pang of shame over that last moment, I cleaned up the best I could and placed the note on that page. Then decided to earmark it, just in case. I hesitated but finally closed the magazine, walked out into our bedroom, and set it under his pillow, hoping he’d understand.
Nothing happened for several days. I was slowly going insane waiting for him to tell me what it was I had picked out. A movie, a magazine…what did making me pick a page mean? He still wasn’t talking to me, wasn’t masturbating, at least not at home, and we weren’t hanging out together. What I thought was a breakthrough was just more torture. I wanted to pound on him, I was so frustrated! Every time I’d try to bring it up, after a lot of talking myself into it, he’d just say wait…like I knew what we were waiting for!? Then he’d rush off, never saying where he going or when he’d be back. It didn’t make any sense. Why not just bring home the movie I wanted? Or pop in an old one, at this point I didn’t care anymore.
Finally the night came when, at dinner, our parents said they were going away for a week. That was nothing new but I looked across the table and my brother had this huge smirk on his face. Instantly I realized what he had been waiting for. I couldn’t figure out why, but he wanted them gone. Maybe he had something big planned. Would we watch it on the big screen television in the living room with the surround sound, blankets sprawled out over the living room floor? Oh, that would be nice. I got excited just thinking about it and stiffly ate the rest of my dinner trying to ignore the devious looks my brother was sending me. If I caught sight of him, it only prolonged the time it would take for me to leave the table.
The next afternoon, I came home from school and heard what I thought were sounds of a new movie coming from our bedroom. I was thrilled! Finally, he’d come through. I ran into the room and froze.
It wasn’t a movie. Instead it was my brother and one of his favorite ‘friends,’ Liam. Liam was a grade A asshole, who thought he was better than everyone else and that the world owed him something. Unfortunately, the student body agreed and he won every award, every popularity contest, and every girl’s heart. I’d always thought he was just a jerk.
They were re-enacting the page from the magazine perfectly. Will was tugging on Liam’s hair, pulling his head back, and furiously slapping his ass. Liam wiggled back and squealed with each blow, then thrust forward into my brother’s spread thighs. When Will saw me, he brought his hand in between Liam’s cheeks and started roughly squeezing his balls, thumb stabbing up into his hole as Liam pushed back and moaned.
I was incensed. I’d never been angrier at my brother than at that moment. This was supposed to be mine and he was using it to please that creep? In my own bedroom! When they’d been together in the past it bothered me but now, after what we did together, the hurt went much deeper. How dare he bring him here! I’d never felt such white-hot rage before. It took over me, boiling my blood, tunneling my vision to a dark red pinpoint.
I lashed out, wildly throwing my backpack at them. Will’s hand flew up, away from Liam’s ass, to bat it away and on impact, one of the pockets burst open, spewing papers around the room.
“Hey!” Will yelled, “What the…I thought-” then he snapped his mouth shut, glared down at Liam squirming in his lap and then back up at me. He brutally shoved Liam off of him and stood up, erect penis bobbing.
The vision of my brother hard, commanding, in control, seared into my mind as I ran from the room, fear and shame swamping my brief excitement. I always did my best to stay out of arguments with my brother and now I’d been violent! What was wrong with me?!
I ran to our parents’ room and locked myself in. Squatting by the door, I wanted to get my body under control, but it was convulsing uncontrollably with rage and fear. Holding onto the doorknob with one shaking hand and covering my mouth with the other, I tried to stifle my harsh panting. I wanted to hear if they were going to come after me.
I heard stomping going down the hallway and then bare feet skidding across the tile in the front foyer leading to our kitchen. Then there was a squeak as our parents’ liquor cabinet was opened, and ice being thrown hastily into a glass, and then the splash and pop as warm alcohol was poured over the top. Only a moment of blessed silence passed before there was more trampling down the hallway toward the kitchen. Relief washed through me as I realized they were more interested in what was happening between them than me.
Then Liam bellowed, “I wasn’t finished!”
Will was strong, he never backed down from a fight but he wasn’t the best fighter, so he never started them either. I knew he could stand up to Liam but his voice was shrill as he yelled, “That’s just your tough luck. I am. So get out!”
“You fucking cock-tease!”
I jumped as I heard fist meet flesh with a whap. Then everything happened so fast. First there was glass shattering and a sharp oomph right before a guttural roar, then they both grunted as they crashed to the floor, followed quickly by the sounds of squeaking shoes, clothes ripping and cries of pain. I never had any doubt that my brother would win. He was tough. No one beat him.
There was a startled yelp and then silence, followed by a disbelieving, “Oh, god, oh, god.” A single set of feet scurried around the room for a second, then there was the jiggling sound of keys, and finally the front door slammed shut.
Then silence fell.
I was terrified. What if he never forgave me? Just because his friends stopped coming over didn’t mean they never would again. Why did I assume they never would? Why was I so mad at something I knew he’d done before? Was I jealous? No, I couldn’t be. He was my brother, I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t. I knew it was wrong. I was sure of it. But I was…I was jealous! He was mine. I hated his friends and never wanted him to see them again.
He was mine!
My mind was going crazy trying to understand what I did and why. Then my legs started to cramp and glancing at the clock I realized I’d been crouched there for a half an hour. Why hadn’t my brother come to yell at me, or drag me out and call me stupid for ruining his plans? I should have trusted him. I should have just let him tell me what to do. Where was he?
My curiosity won out over my fear. I cracked open the door and peered down the hall. From just the little crack, I could see my brother’s bare feet lying on the tile in the foyer surrounded by glass. A jagged cut ran down one foot, blood pooling at the base. He was so still, and I couldn’t understand why he’d be lying on the cold tile instead of his bed.
My stomach curled in on itself as I realized that maybe my brother was hurt. I couldn’t fathom it, but just…maybe.
My entire body shook, my teeth chattering together as I fought away the nausea. I crawled down the hallway, on my hands and knees, and onto the tile. The closer I got, the more terror I felt. I ignored the pain as glass cut into my palms and knees. I was only focused on getting to my brother.
I struggled up to him, sobs now taking over my body. I could barely see through the tears clouding my vision. I looked down at him and saw blood and alcohol splattered on his face and neck. Blood was pooling into his left eye from a deep gash through his eyebrow and also coming from his nose, which slid around his lips before traveling down his cheek to splash onto the tile. I collapsed over him, choking on my own tears as I tried to wake him up, pulling at his clothes, spreading our blood together over his face and hair, cooing to him and petting him.
I’d never been more scared. He was everything to me and now he was hurt. It was all my fault. All of it. I never should have been born. What I wanted had hurt my brother. I’m dirty and wrong.
I started begging for him to be all right, to forgive me, to take me with him. I’d do anything to have him back, just to not leave me. But he didn’t move, didn’t wake up, and didn’t make everything all right. When I realized I couldn’t drag him back to our bedroom, I crawled up on top of him and wrapped my arms around him. Laying my head against his chest, I took what little comfort I could from listening to his steady heartbeat and slow, even breaths. Then trying to match my breathing to his, I cried myself to sleep.